


rabbit blood

by 875857



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Magic Revealed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-24
Updated: 2012-03-24
Packaged: 2017-11-02 11:12:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/875857/pseuds/875857
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Merlin's twenty-first birthday, he tells Arthur about his magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rabbit blood

There is no feast to celebrate his birth. There is no one breaking out the finest caskets of wine from the cellar. There is no extravagant party with entertainers solely for his pleasure. There are no lords coming from far away lands with offerings and warm regards for his health. There are no ladies tittering words of praise for him, about how _gallant_ and _lovely_ he is while they watch him with fluttering eyelashes and slightly puckered lips.  
  
But there _is_ a tree root pressing awkwardly but not uncomfortably into his back through the bedroll and the thin layers of his clothes, and Merlin stares up at the sky and imagines what it would be like to live amongst the stars. He breathes, feeling the chill of the night and finding it refreshing. There is no one that actually knows the day of Merlin’s birth - at least in Camelot. Why should any of them care? He’s just a manservant. (Albeit an extremely magical one.)  
  
He supposes that would be a lie. He’s sure Gwen or Gaius would make him something - or some of the knights would pat him on the back - but he doesn’t really need them to. He’s fine without it. It’s actually a little funny, and just a bit pathetic - but Merlin is so used to _not_ getting attention and recognition for things, that he’d actually be a little _alarmed_ if he suddenly did. He rolls over onto his side, reaching for a piece of nearby firewood that he’d gathered earlier and tossing it into the flames. Embers crackle and float into the air before disappearing, and Merlin traces their flight path with his eyes.  
  
It’s strange though - knowing that he’s somehow survived for four years in the very heart of Camelot. Four years of doing “ _wicked sorcery_ ” under the guise of being the prince’s - now _king_ , he has to remind himself with a small satisfied smile - hapless, clumsy, idiotic manservant.  
  
He has moments - times when he finds himself gripping the cloth he uses to polish Arthur’s armour a little too tightly because he remembers dents and pierced areas that once upon a time were covered in Arthur’s blood. Times when he wonders, could he have done something _more_? Or even did he do the right thing? But he usually tells himself to take a deep breath and to not think about it, not to regret - because at the time, they were _necessary_ and Merlin has fully taken up the mantle of making hard decisions in order to keep Arthur safe. Damn it all if it isn’t stressful, though.  
  
Maybe he should’ve told the cook it was his birthday. He could use a fruit tart for all his troubles. Maybe just something to nibble on as he packed Arthur’s bag earlier. Not that there would’ve been any time, really. Arthur was intent on setting out at first light.  
  
Merlin sighs, and when he hears a crunch of leaves coming from the forest, he jerks upright.  
  
“ _Relax_ , Merlin. It’s only me.” Arthur says, strolling over and dropping a few rabbits into the other’s lap. Merlin laughs and tries not to think about how hard it’ll be to get the rabbit’s blood that just got on his clothes out - before having the internal monologue of ‘ _fuck it, I’ll magic it out later_.’  
  
He pulls out a knife and starts skinning the rabbits as Arthur drops unceremoniously to the floor, looking less like a king and more like the unruly teenager Merlin met years ago. Of course, there are differences - like how the soft, young features of Arthur’s had since then hardened out slightly, or the wisdom that Merlin thinks is ridiculous to admit he now sees shine in Arthur’s eyes, or the way holds himself with the self-assurance of a _leader_ instead of the cocky confidence of a spoiled bully.  
  
And deep down, Merlin likes to think a lot of that was because of him.  
  
“Oh, _good_. I thought you’d gotten lost and I’d have to come save you. _Again_.” Merlin says, the joke skimming quite close to the surface and Arthur’s expression is enough to make him laugh.  
  
“Save me? Again? Really, where do you even _get_ such ridiculous notions? Hopefully not from your friends at the tavern.” Arthur snorts and leans back on his hands, expecting Merlin to have some sort of retort for that. But Merlin pauses, _stills_ \- because now, now would be a good time to just blurt out _‘I’m magic_ ’ at Arthur. They’re _complacent_ , the lull in activity has brought them to a point where simple banter is enjoyable. Merlin sucks in a breath. He could just tell Arthur. Like he’s wanted to for since... He doesn’t even remember when “ _I’ve got to keep my magic a secret until the laws against magic are abolished_ ” turned to “ _I’ve got to keep my magic a secret until I think Arthur is ready for me to tell him_ ”, because he’s growing into the idea that to get the _former_ , he has to do the _latter_.  
  
He’s been having a lot more of these moments, where he feels he could just mention offhandedly that he’s been able to move objects since he was born, and that he’s used his powers to save and help Arthur more times than he can count. Arthur notices Merlin’s sudden discomfort and glances at him, eyebrow quirking.  
  
Merlin shoulders past the moment, a mix of fear and apprehension stopping him - “Of course not, _sire_.” - he rolls his eyes, smiling wryly in a way that hopefully deters Arthur from his concerns. But Arthur is smarter than Merlin gives him credit for, and years ago Arthur might’ve just shrugged it off, he now has a look on his face that tells Merlin he doesn’t appreciate the sudden mood shift Merlin just had. Arthur doesn’t push it - and silence settles over them, save for nature around them, the crackling of firewood, and Merlin’s work.  
  
His heart feels like it’s dropped in his chest - because like he’d said, the opportunities to tell Arthur about his magic kept on coming and Merlin still hadn’t spoken a word. It felt _cowardly_. Four years ago, Arthur would have turned him over to his father without a second thought - but now, Merlin knows that’s not the case. For one, there’s no Uther to turn him over to. _Surely_ , after all this time, Arthur can’t believe that Merlin is plotting to kill him? Though Arthur isn’t aware of a lot of the situations where Merlin has saved him, there’s good number of times where Merlin has shown his dedication _again_ and _again_. He’s shown that he’s willing to die for Arthur - and on _several_ occasions, he nearly has. That has to count for something, _right_? The more Merlin thinks about it - the more he feels that he’s got no reason to not tell Arthur.  
  
There was a point where he felt Arthur wouldn’t be able to kill him, and maybe it was when he’d knelt and Geoffrey had placed that crown upon his head and the audience chamber had rung out with _‘long live the king, long live the king_ ’s that shook everything to the core with how true it statement was. Or maybe it was a night like this, when it was just the two of them sitting around a fire, talking about nothing, everything, past, future, and _now_ \- and Merlin decides that nothing was ever accomplished by placidly sitting by.  
  
“ _Arthur_.”  
  
“Yes, Merlin?”  
  
“I - “ the words are stuck in his throat, like having a reverse gag reflex, almost. Merlin has kept this secret so long, it’s almost _painful_ to say it. Arthur’s looking at him expectantly, and although Arthur’s posture is casual, he’s tuned well enough to Arthur to see a thrum of masked concern in the other.  
  
Arthur sits up, looking at Merlin - and Merlin wonders where he learned to speak with such a good mix of impatience and gentle goading, “Spit it out.”  
  
It probably came with being king, because he certainly doesn’t remember Arthur being much more than a prat for the first year of his employ. (A good man, _sure_ , but still a prat.)  
  
“Well I doubt you’d _actually_ like me to spit it out, sire.” he says snootily, because he’s it’s a dumb defense mechanism and both of them know that. Arthur scoffs and has a small smile anyway. “It’s, erm. My birthday.”  
  
 _No_ , damn it. Not as important - _not what he’d meant._ But Arthur’s face lights up and he reaches over to squeeze Merlin’s shoulder.  
  
“Really?” He laughs, and something inside Merlin curls up happily anyway at the sound. “I suppose I should congratulate you on staying alive this long, yeah? Is this why you’re so strange tonight?” His smile dims a little, “If you wanted to stay back to celebrate, you should have just told me.” His hand has not left Merlin’s shoulder.

Merlin shakes his head, preparing the rabbits to be cooked. “I don’t mind.” He likes being out here. He likes being with _you_. “No one actually... knows.” He looks sheepish, and if not for the unclean state of his hands, he’d probably be running his hand through his hair.  
  
“What? Why not?” Arthur looks at him like he’s an idiot - a statement that Merlin is starting to believe that might actually be kind of true. He shrugs, shifting and his leg brushes against Arthur’s.  
  
“It just never came up. Or seemed important.”  
  
Arthur’s expression is almost offended - which seems ridiculous considering this isn’t his birthday. It’s Merlin’s. “ _Important_? It’s the day of your birth. Of course it’s an important day-”  
  
“We’re not all royalty, _sire_. A simple manservant’s birthday is hardly important, is it?” he interupts, and Arthur looks cowed by this. Merlin smiles at Arthur, trying to relay a small sort of amusement.  
  
“I meant to _you_ , idiot.” Arthur scowls, cheeks possibly a little red but that just might be from the light of the fire as he glares at it.  
  
Merlin is silent for a moment, but then he _tsks_ , and shakes his head, before putting the rabbits on a stick and setting it over the fire to cook, “If I knew you were going to insult me, maybe I should have stayed back and celebrated with my ' _tavern buddies_ '.”  
  
Arthur laughs, “You mean you _didn’t_ expect me to insult you? Are you _daft_? I thought you’d have caught on by now.”  
  
He laughs in response, leaning over to bump his shoulder against Arthur’s. “ _Prat_.” It’s an old insult, and neither of them comment that Merlin says it in the same way one would affectionately call someone ' _dear_ '. Arthur elbows him back, that beautiful fucking smile that Merlin loves seeing on his face.  
  
“You’re lucky it’s your birthday, else it’d be the stocks for you.” Merlin nods his head, rolling his eyes again. It’s partially an empty insult, because Merlin hasn’t been put into the stocks for at least a year. It’s rather amazing, honestly. He looks to Arthur, at the way the fire reflects in his eyes and -  
  
He looks down. He wipes his hands on his pants and thinks to himself ‘this is what you’ve wanted. _this is the moment_ ’.

Merlin would much rather _tell_ Arthur. He wants it to be on his terms, and this is probably the closest he’ll get to that. He doesn’t want Arthur to find out in a flurry of blades of enemy knights. He doesn’t want to surprise Arthur with the fierce glow of gold in his eyes - _no_ , he wants to work Arthur into it. He wants to take it slow and gentle - he wants to show Arthur the _endless possibilities_ and the _beauty_ that magic can be. He doesn’t want Arthur to first witness his magic in a situation where he has to kill. No. He’d rather it be something simple, something _meaningful_ and _bloodless_ \- like possibly conjuring the Pendragon seal to appear in the smoke of the fire. Maybe that’s how he should do it. Wordlessly, just make the seal appear - it would be easy, just raise his hand and let the magic that curls under his fingertips flow out - but _no_. That’s not what Merlin wants to do. So he opens his mouth.  
  
“That’s not what I originally meant to tell you, though,” he says to the cooking meat. He can almost feel Arthur’s eyes suddenly on him. He swallows;  
  
And on Merlin’s twenty-first birthday, he tells Arthur about his magic.

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this for fy-merlinxarthur on tumblr/their 3w merthur competition thing abooboo boo!
> 
> man I’m such a butt lol I wrote a reveal!fic. or it’s like.. a pseudo reveal!fic. also I hope being 118-ish words over the limit doesn’t disqualify me that would suck lmao… yikes…
> 
>  
> 
> **LOOKING FOR A BETA. HEY GUYS. IF ANYONE'S INTERESTED, GO AHEAD AND EMAIL ME AT 875857@gmail.com**


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